


A Clue for Eliot

by Allegria23



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Cottage Fic, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Kissing, M/M, New Relationship, Quentin figures things out first, being brave, the mosaic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegria23/pseuds/Allegria23
Summary: Eliot is slow to catch on; Quentin writes him a letter.





	A Clue for Eliot

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little thing that I dashed out this afternoon while watching a boatload of kids, suddenly inspired to try to participate in the Whitespire's Armory challenge on the theme of "letters," and with very little time before the deadline. No time for editing, fretting, thinking better of it, or a beta; I've been stuck on another piece for a while, and I wanted to be a writer who produces things. Anyway, sorry it's rough, but here it is. Thank you for the inspiration. <3

Quentin reached around the corner and took Eliot by the hand. He pulled him gently in a broad curve and Eliot, who knew how to dance and could follow a lead, arced gracefully around the corner of the cottage and let Quentin spin him up against the wall. Quentin stepped forward and pressed up against Eliot, pinning him against the fading wood, his fingers still in his hand. He lifted up on his toes, took the back of Eliot’s head in his free hand, and pulled him down into a kiss. Eliot, to his credit, slid part-way down the door, bending his knees so that Quentin could pin him properly.

Quentin was so grateful that, after all these months, Eliot had gotten the memo that Quentin actually wanted him. Like achingly, desperately, yearningly _wanted_ him. It had taken fucking forever, but _finally,_ here they were. 

In reality, what it had taken was not a memo, but an honest to god letter. Evidently, initiating sex at every available opportunity wasn’t enough to convince the man; he had needed the written word. What had he thought Quentin was having with him? Boredom sex? Quentin didn’t know, but he had sworn, if he’d heard one more “You don’t have to,” or “Are you sure?” he was going to lose his mind. So he had taken some time, a week or so ago, when it was Eliot’s turn to head into town to trade for a few supplies, to sit down and compose his thoughts. If Eliot didn’t want to talk about what they had between them yet he could maybe handle that, but this was getting ridiculous and Quentin thought it was about time that Eliot got a clue. 

_Dear Eliot,_ he'd begun,

 _I’m hoping this letter won’t scare you away. Look, I know we haven’t been talking about it, but we’ve been so, so_ _physical_ _for the past few months, and honestly, I love it. I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. But I need you to know that I’m_ _into it_ _, okay? I’m_ _into you._ _I have been for quite a while-- like, even before we came to Fillory, even though everything was so fucked up with my ex (I’m sorry about that.) And look, you’re my best friend and that’s not going to change. But I need you to know that I_ _want you,_ _and not just because we’re here, but because you’re you._

_When we first got here, I had so much to process, and then it took me a while to feel safe enough to be able to act on how I felt. And we don’t have to get into all of that here, but I want you to know that this is real for me. I’m not pretending, or settling, and it’s not out of convenience-- you keep asking me if I’m sure, and I’m telling you: I’m sure. I want you, Eliot. Desperately and pretty much constantly. Not someone else, not anyone else. And if we solve this mosaic tomorrow and poof back to our regular lives, I’m still going to want you, and I’ll still want to be with you, and I hope you’ll still want to be with me, too._

_Yours,_

_Quentin_

He’d left the letter on the table in their tiny kitchen space, where he knew Eliot would find it after he returned and went in to put things away, and sure enough: Eliot had appeared in the doorway, letter in his hand and a dazed look on his face. Quentin had set down the tiles he was sorting and gone to him, standing close and waiting. He’d swallowed, and Quentin had reached out and taken his hand. 

“Q,” Eliot had said. His voice was wracked with emotion. “Really?”

“Yes,” Quentin said. “Really.” He stepped in and put his arms around Eliot’s waist. “Um,” he said, suddenly needing to check, “you?”

Eliot smiled, a beautiful, genuine smile that lit up his eyes, “Really, really _yes_.” 

The kiss they had shared then had been one of their best so far, tender and intimate in a way that they had only rarely approached before, and only in the fleeting moments _after_ sex. And if it had been followed by “Wow, um, okay, yeah” and another dazed, startled look, that was all right. Quentin didn’t want to completely overwhelm him. 

“Let’s go make some supper, okay?” he’d asked. And “Yeah, let’s do that,” Eliot had said, and Quentin had taken his hand and led him back inside.

Now, he held him up against the side of the cottage, and was kissing his way down his neck. Eliot put his arms around his waist, he laughed. “You,” he said, and kissed the top of his head, “are voracious.”

“Yep,” said Quentin, smiling against his collarbone.

“I love it,” said Eliot, and Quentin’s heart _thumped._ They had plenty of time, he thought, pressing forward against his best friend, his lover his… _boyfriend?_ Thinking about what he had almost heard. Possibly, they had all the time in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Queliot piece that is not part of my "second time around" series, and my first stab at the mosaic. Didn't expect it at all.


End file.
